Sight

[Tahara]

She dreams of flying.

There is cool night wind in her hair - or are those wings? Just like any other dream, they are one and the same, a vague semi state of being and not being, shifting every moment and every new realisation makes perfect, unquestioned sense.

She flies in utter silence, a waxing moon above as well as hundreds of thousands of stars. She feels close to them, so close. Close enough to reach out and take one home, for herself, but before she can fly up, the tiniest sound catches her attention.

Tahara's eyes narrow. She slows the beating of her wings, circling over the stretch of savanna. She scans the ground for the noise that gets her blood pumping, the faintest rustling of dry leaves, the shift of sand on the ground and… there!

She's much too far away to tell, she realizes, becoming a little more aware of the dream and its nonsensical nature. Yet, somehow, the tiny speck of lighter brown against darker brown turns into a prairie dog, as clear to her as if it was sitting right in front of her.

She dives.

It's the most invigorating, exciting, fascinating feeling she has ever felt. Her heart sings, she wants to scream and laugh in sheer bliss as her hands - talons? - wrap around the prairie dog. He has no time to fight her, her sharp talons ripping through his chest.

Tahara finds a nearby tree, landing safely in its branches. Her heart still pounds as she turns to the critter, ripping into it with delicious, exhilarated ferocity. It's not so much the flavour that satisfies the hunger she only now realizes she's felt. It is the satisfaction of an instinct, older than the world and carved into her hollow bones. All that came before her hunted like this and all that may come after will feel the blood around their talons and know peace.

She leaves the carcass, picked clean, for whatever buzzard that wants to claim the scraps, wants to feel the pale imitation of what courses through her veins.

She smacks her lips, only slightly aware of the odd noise it makes, like the clicking of a beak. She ruffles her feathers. The blood was not enough to slake her thirst, so she beats her wings again and takes to the skies, a home so infinite and so beautiful that no nest would ever compare.

The savanna sprawls out beneath her. The sounds in the night are a song, a gentle melody to guide her through the afterglow of the hunting haze.

She reaches an oasis in front of a large cave. She gently sinks down to the grass, talons finding soft earth and dips her head into the cool waters. What she does not drink, she uses to clean herself, feeling refreshed and happier than she ever remembers being.

She looks around the oasis, watching a small fly she shouldn't be able to see so clearly in the dark of night. It buzzes merrily, landing on a deep red petal…

… and Tahara flutters backwards as the red petal snaps shut. The fly buzzes, desperate to escape its prison, but stills before long.

Tahara tilts her head. Huh. She didn't remember seeing a plant like that in the Barrens. Her curious nature takes over, picking up one of the smaller stalks. The small bulb is not open or large enough to be a threat, so she rips it out and carries it to the next best home to the skies.

She feels the dream fading, a lonely tower coming into view. Within, she catches the sight of two sleeping orcs that… wait.

Wait…

Tahara's eyes fly open. The rustling of wings had woken her up and roused her from her hunting dream. She sits up straight as a blade of grass, wide awake all of a sudden and watches Feathers fold his wings as he lands, talons shearing the wood of the tower's top level. He lets out a slight call. Calling her.

Tahara steps outside the hut and sinks to her knees in front of him, confused. Her heart beats faster as she sees the green stalk in his talon, complete with a deep red bulb of still closed petals.

She looks at feathers' milky white eyes and sees only her own in the mirror of his soul.

Tahara reaches a hand out, feeling his still wet plumage.

"Wh-... what did we just do…?"